


inchoate

by atriums



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual acts while under the influence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2044626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atriums/pseuds/atriums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The beginning of their unconventional relationship was not what Jongdae expected when he agreed to smoke up with Yixing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	inchoate

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the justgetlayd fic fest @ livejournal, prompt #5. Based on my brief time with my stoner friends and an old rumor from dem high school days, lulz.

Zhang Yixing is both the best and worst thing that has ever happened to Kim Jongdae. Yixing was one of _those_ types of people, riddled with eccentricities and idiosyncrasies that make everyone around him tick with the urge to strip him down to nothing just to see if he’d still smile that beautiful dimpled smile when all of his secrets are bare. 

Jongdae is one of those people.

There’s something about the constant faraway look, Yixing’s trademark, that beckons forth Jongdae’s attention, like a moth to the flame. Yixing is different. Yixing is… _alluring._ He’s open and honest, with smiles like sunshine and sadness pervasive like petrichor and darkness after a tempestuous thunderstorm. It is that which undoubtedly draws Jongdae to him, the gentility of his person and the bright, distinctive colors of his emotions worn like the graphic t-shirts hanging off his slender frame. 

And it is that attraction that has Jongdae following Yixing over broken tree limbs and headstones as they search for a dark, secluded spot in the cemetery. Jongdae’s palms are clammy with nerves but Yixing tosses an indolent, self-assured smile back at him that soothes his nerves like aloe on a burn. Yixing seems well-traversed in the cemetery, knowing exactly where he’s going and the flashlight is just there to make sure they don’t trip on anything.

The landscape dips downward and just before reaching the bottom, Yixing’s hand clasps Jongdae’s tight and pulls him behind a crypt with a small overhang. They’re pretty well hidden in the shadows of the night and the surrounding shrubbery and forest, and Jongdae finds himself relaxing considerably as Yixing shuffles around his small bag that he brought. Out comes a little baggy, neatly rolled, and a small velvet pouch in which Yixing keeps his glass bowl. It’s brightly colored and the flashlight casts hues of red and yellow on the cementing behind them as he lights up. 

It’s never been more clear to Jongdae before that Yixing is a natural at this as he presses down on the choke, letting his bowl fill up with smoke before he inhales it all in one, deep breath. He holds it in and passes it to Jongdae, and at the sight of the cartoonish design of the lighter in his hands, Jongdae bursts out into laughter because jesus fuck he’s in a cemetery about to get stoned out of his fucking mind with his crush who has a stupid little “Flick my Bic” lighter and it is all so, so _ridiculous_. 

Yixing blows out a plume of smoke just as Jongdae begins fumbling with the lighter. He laughs, eyes glowing and Jongdae wonders if he’s had enough to be stoned yet or if that’s just the reflection of the flashlight. Jongdae lights up and presses his thumb against the choke, waits a few seconds, and then inhales too fast all at once and ends up choking. He hadn’t expected the pungent burn on his tongue, a little bit too much like earth and plants and something else he can’t quite name just yet. Beside him Yixing laughs with his head thrown back, and somehow manages to scoot close enough to press himself languidly against Jongdae’s side. 

“Do it slow,” Yixing tells him with one of his trademark indolent smiles, with the same trademark indolent gaze. As he watches Yixing take another hit, it finally dawns on him what they’re doing and how in his element Yixing is. Jongdae attempts to mimic him to the best of his ability, inhaling all of the smoke slowly and holding it in his lungs. He’s much more successful that time, and it just _hits_ him all at once. 

At least Jongdae knows why they call it getting _high_ , he muses as he digs his fingers into Yixing’s shirt, into the earth beneath them. He feels like he’s ascended in some way, like he’s floating but he’s still very much on the ground as a tingling warmth spreads through him. It starts in his eyes and then spreads to the tips of his fingers and toes and it’s all sorts of lovely and wonderful that he leans into Yixing with a smile and takes two more hits before he’s done, and Yixing finishes the bowl himself and one more before he’s done. 

Jongdae loops his arm through Yixing’s and realizes he’s smiling like a fool (a lovesick fool), and hopes the warmth in his face is from the feel good of the high and not the rush of unadulterated affection through him as Yixing intertwines their fingers.

“This is really nice,” Jongdae hums, watching the light and shadows play across Yixing’s beautiful face that surely must have been sculpted by an artist somehow, somewhere. Jongdae can’t peel his eyes away from the slope of Yixing’s cheekbones and the shadow of his jaw, the light of his smile and the darkness of his dimple as he turn to stare and meet Jongdae’s gaze.

The heat of Yixing’s breath bounces off Jongdae’s cheek and another burst of warmth fills him as he realizes how close together they are. Yixing is so lovely and wonderful by his side, so warm and with skin as smooth as satin—or is it silk? (Whichever one is lovelier, except Jongdae thinks that might actually be Yixing himself.) 

“I know you are,” Yixing hums, and before Jongdae knows it the proximity between them has lessened another several centimeters until there’s almost nothing left. The look Yixing is giving Jongdae makes his throat dry, and he swallows the saliva in his mouth. It could have been seconds, minutes, maybe even hours, of them sitting there and staring at one another before someone takes the final plunge, but fuck when they kiss it’s like Yixing is breathing air into his lungs and Jongdae drinks him in like a madman parched. 

Kissing Yixing gives Jongdae too many feelings, he’s so overwhelmed, and it doesn’t help that he is stoned off his goddamn ass. But this, sitting here with Yixing and kissing him and holding him in his lap—woah when did _that_ happen?—is probably one of the nicest things he’s ever done, and it’s so nice that his heart is overflowing with heat and it spreads through him nice and slow. 

Then Yixing moves against him, hips gyrating in small circles and pressing against him in a way that has his toes curling and the breath in his lungs escaping with short, stuttered gasps. Jongdae isn’t sure when his dick got as hard as it is, but Yixing knows how to kiss him and he knows how to grind against him in a way that has a slow burn spreading through him. He’s had sex before, but never like this, never while stoned and it’s a whole new experience he’s far too eager to leap headfirst into. 

“Yixing—” Jongdae loses his words when Yixing’s tongue dips into his mouth and licks at him. His skin is buzzing with the high through him and it’s like sharp jolts of pleasure from where Yixing is against him, from every movement of his sinuous dancer hips, to the way his hands cup Jongdae’s face and where their mouths are connected.

Yixing pulls away far too soon, and he smiles at Jongdae coyly with wide pupils. “This is really nice,” he says and his voice is low and soft and slow and Jongdae’s cock twitches because everything about Yixing is _nice._

“Yeah.” Jongdae swallows as he nods, meeting Yixing’s gaze evenly. “This is really nice.” 

Yixing’s mouth quirks upward into one of his trademark smiles, cheek dimpling, and he steals one more kiss before leaning back far enough that he can undo the clasp of Jongdae’s jeans. It occurs to him somewhere right then and there that Jongdae is with Yixing, his crush, in the middle of a cemetery at two in the morning and they’re both stoned and _holy fuck Yixing’s hand is in his pants and on his dick—_

Jongdae makes an embarrassing gurgling sound as Yixing’s loose fist curls around him, his head falling back and resting none too gently on the cement crypt wall behind him. Yixing’s still smiling as he strokes slowly, gently, thumb pressing into the head and spreading the spurts of precum to make the glide easier. He seems to struggle with the roughness of Jongdae’s zipper pressing into his hand uncomfortably and coaxes Jongdae to lift himself up so he can pull his jeans down over his ass, and wow, sitting on cold cement and leaves is not the most comfortable thing, but he can forget about it if Yixing twists his wrist like _that_ again. 

Jongdae has enough sense about him to cover his mouth with his hand and bite into the palm—he’s all too aware of how much of a vocal person he is. He knows that every movement of Yixing’s hand on his cock bring forth a whimper, a mewl, as pleasure ebbs and flows through him. And Yixing, lovely, wonderful Yixing, has this look in his hooded, clouded gaze that makes Jongdae’s heart leap in his chest because it’s the kind of look that makes him feel like he’s the only thing in this world that has ever mattered. It’s the kind of look he knows he must give Yixing whenever he catches sight of him. 

It’s the thought of how amazing Yixing is, of how fucking good his hand feels on Jongdae, and the warmth flooding his veins, that has Jongdae coming undone with a short, stifled cry. He spills everywhere and Yixing leans in close to kiss him, hand working at him until he’s crying out from too much sensation and he’s soft again. There’s a light in Yixing’s eyes when he pulls away (and no, it’s not the reflection of the flashlight dimly illuminating them, Thank You Very Much) that has Jongdae’s deepest fantasies roaring to life in the back of his head.

Jongdae is far too eager as he leads Yixing to relax in the shadows, against the softness of grass and earth beneath them, so he can undo Yixing’s pants and slide him into his mouth. He makes the most musical, melodious sound Jongdae has ever heard as his throat constricts around the head of Yixing’s cock. He knows he’s being overzealous as saliva spills everywhere, but Yixing certainly isn’t complaining if the way his fingers tighten in Jongdae’s hair and the high pitched moans are of any indication. 

For a moment, Jongdae regrets that he and Yixing have strayed from the illumination of the flashlight by their feet. He wants nothing more than to be able to look up at Yixing, to see the flush of his cheeks, the daze in his eyes, and watch the way his mouth curves around each wonderful sound as pleasure overwhelms him. He wants to see every inch of Yixing, from his heaving chest, bare with a sprinkle of bitemarks and hickeys, wants to see what shade red his nipples will turn with the right amount of attention. 

But most of all, he really wants to see Yixing’s cock—wants to know if the scarlet of Yixing’s kiss-swollen (or bitten, like he tends to do when he’s nervous, or maybe from Jongdae during a particularly heated make-out session—oh yes he likes that thought very much) mouth will match the flush of blood and arousal to his length.

Yixing is almost as vocal as Jongdae is, and that’s saying something. But where Jongdae is vocal because he can’t suppress his pleasure, Yixing is vocal because he likes to _talk_ , likes to tell Jongdae how wonderful and warm and wet his mouth is, likes to tell him how good it feels and _oh I wanna come down your throat, I wanna come down your throat so bad, baby._ His hips work in slow, small undulations as he easily fucks himself in and out of Jongdae’s mouth, and he is all too happy to let Yixing do it. There’s little finesse in his movements, making it clear he’s painfully close to orgasm, and Jongdae has a moment to think, _yeah I want you to come down my throat too_ as he sucks hard and swallows, throat tight and fluttering around the head of Yixing’s cock. 

That’s all it takes, his back arching into a beautiful curve that Jongdae almost misses and would have been very, very upset at himself if he actually had. Yixing is beautiful when he comes undone, his whole being judders with the rush of release and the gasping moan but neither one of them really cares. Jongdae crawls up to Yixing and drapes an arm over him, meeting in the middle for a sweet kiss that has his stomach and his heart somersaulting at the same time.

Yixing laughs, and it is a quiet, happy laugh that Jongdae would be damned if that wasn’t a Shakespearean sonata in iambic pentameter—or, whatever. He’s too stoned to think straight, intoxicated by Yixing’s very presence and the residual vestiges of his own pleasure. 

“You’re beautiful.” Jongdae’s words escape his thoughts before he can stop them, but the kiss he gets as a reward is well worth it. They lay still for minutes, hours, or maybe just seconds more until Yixing sits up and reaches for the flashlight, fixing the button of his pants and grabbing his discarded bag with a tiny, indolent smile. Jongdae follows suit and pulls up his pants, the flush of embarrassment warming his cheeks. 

The world around him is a little shaky, but Jongdae manages getting to his feet and follows Yixing out of the cemetery just fine. They hold hands as they make their leisurely way back to the dorms, sneaking back inside through some way that only Yixing knows. Yixing is enigmatic, brimming with secrets, and tonight he has shown Jongdae at least a handful and it makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside in a way that is definitely not the weed. 

Yixing leads Jongdae back to his dorm room, where they find Yixing’s roommate passed out on the couch in the middle of some movie. He turns everything off and tosses a small blanket over the other before they stumble into Yixing’s room because Jongdae thinks peppering kisses on Yixing’s face is a much better idea than walking.

They fumble and collapse in Yixing’s bed and Jongdae can’t help the quiet laughter bubbling from his lips. He’s just so happy, so warm, right here in Yixing’s arms. It’s the only place he’s ever wanted to be for months and now everything has just kind of fallen into place. 

The words build up in his throat, and all Jongdae can think is that he really, really just wants to tell Yixing how much he adores him.

“Hey, Yixing…” 

“Yeah?” Yixing smiles as his thumb brushes over the arch of Jongdae’s cheekbone.

“I want to tell you a secret,” Jongdae starts, but bites his tongue when he remembers how stoned he is. “But, I can’t tell you now. I’ll tell you in the morning, okay?” 

“Why can’t you tell me now?” Jongdae can hear the pout in Yixing’s voice and grins as he pulls the covers over them both. It’s dark but Jongdae doesn’t need to see Yixing when he can feel him and he feels so nice. 

“Because then it wouldn’t be a secret.”

Jongdae falls asleep to Yixing’s staccato laughter, a tattoo on his heart.


End file.
